


Enough

by M_Renoir



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Ambiguous team, And all that jazz, And also who can forget? The dreaded, It's just porn don't like don't read, M/M, Masturbation, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, engies not actually there, friend zone, spy's creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 01:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15426255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Renoir/pseuds/M_Renoir
Summary: He feared losing that friendship more than anything. He would much rather settle for this than lose it all. The tentative almost-touches, the moments Spy shared only with himself--with nothing but stolen clothing and his own right hand.





	Enough

Spy had always considered his sense of smell to be rather keen. While it may seem to lack any practical use, being able to smell that something was off had helped him more than once, whether it was to escape a room filled with poisonous gas or to discover his food had been tampered with. Danger, however, was the last thing on his mind right now.

The thin man sat on his bed, leaning back against the wall. Clutched in one hand was a shirt, stained with blood and smelling of sweat and toil. It wasn't his own shirt, obviously. He kept better care of his own things, and didn't leave them lying around for ne’er do wells such as himself to steal. His room was dim, the lights off and the curtains drawn, with only a sliver of moonlight peeping in from the window illuminating the inside. Almost hidden in the darkness, a yellow class symbol on the shirt’s upper arm identified the shirt as belonging to the Engineer.

Spy pressed the balled up, dirty shirt against his face and inhaled deeply, his eyelids fluttering closed. Ecstasy, was how he described the scent. Sure, it smelled of engine grease, sweat, and blood, but it was these scents mixed with an underlying musk that made the Engineer, and all his belongings, smell so intoxicating. It was very difficult to ignore the sharp longing that Spy felt whenever he passed Engie in the hallways, or passed time in his workshop. They were friends, or at least, supposed to be. Spy was painfully aware that the Texan would never return these feelings. The shorter man constantly spoke of his wife at home, the woman he loved so dearly. Spy, of course, put on a smile just for him.

It only got harder when they were close enough to be a little more physically intimate, though not always in the way Spy wished. In private, Engineer allowed the assassin close, close enough to hold hands or brush shoulders. More than once, they found themselves bundled up together in front of the fireplace, struggling to keep their eyes open while laughing at each others’ stories. These were easy times to pass. Spy enjoyed their friendship. It was only on nights like these, the painfully lonely nights, that he wished they could've been something… Different. Something more, almost. He wished he could feel the bare skin hidden beneath coarse cloth, hold more than just the Texan’s hands. He wanted to kiss him, to touch him, and to hold him close, closer than a friend had the right to do. But that would simply never happen. He feared losing that friendship more than anything. He would much rather settle for this than lose it all. The tentative almost-touches, the moments Spy shared only with himself--with nothing but stolen clothing and his own right hand.

This is what happens, he chided himself as he took another deep breath, when you get too involved. All these accursed emotions and desires, mixed up into one jumbled mess of wants, needs, and denial. One hand wandered to the elastic of his briefs, hesitating momentarily. Every time he had this internal moral struggle. It wasn't right, part of him said, because he's your friend. You also shouldn't lust after a married man, and besides… He wouldn't have you anyway, no matter how often you do this. The other, more insistent part of him always crooned: you deserve this much at least, right? If you can't have him, and you don't want to force him… This is all you can and will ever get. Nothing more, only less. But it could be worse. You know how to kidnap a man. You could do worse. This is fine, just relax…

It was easy to say which side always lost and which side always won. Spy was never the most upstanding citizen.

The wandering hand slid up to undo the last few buttons of his shirt, exposing his torso to the chilly night air. It made his hair stand on end, but he knew the chill wouldn't last. Briefly, he paused to switch which hand held the shirt to his nose. Then, his newly freed hand wandered over his body.

Spy kept his eyes closed, squeezing them tightly shut so as to not ruin the illusion he had made in his mind. The hand running over his skin wasn't his own, it was his beloved Engineer’s. He groaned softly into the coarse cloth covering his mouth and nose, the sound too muffled and quiet to carry out of his room. Cool, leather-clad fingers trailed over his collarbone, trickled down his side, and traced up the contours of his stomach. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. With a huff of frustration, Spy threw the shirt down beside him and tore off his gloves, tossing them carelessly to the floor. Then, he lay down on the bed, pulling the stolen clothing over his face again. The scent of his favorite Texan engulfed him, and the assassin sighed near silently. Using one hand to hold the shirt in place, he returned to giving himself attention. With his eyes tightly shut, one hand wandered to his chest, tweaking his nipple between his fingers. The feeling was electric. He bit back a moan, arching his back up, pretending that it made a difference.

Spy let himself drift into his fantasy slowly, imagining that it wasn't his own hand touching himself, but Engineer’s. He imagined the Texan’s calloused hands wandering over Spy’s skin, the coarse skin feeling wonderful against his body. Slowly, the hand wandered to his other nipple, gently rubbing it in a circle, teasing him until he was hard and aching. Spy couldn't stop the groans that now escaped from his lips. It didn't matter anyway, no one would be awake this late at night. The hand holding Engineer’s shirt to Spy’s nose stiffened, pressing the coarse cloth more insistently into his face. His breaths came faster, a little more labored than before.

Spy figured it was time to finally pay attention to himself a little more closely. This time, his hand didn't hesitate at the weak barrier of elastic that drew the line between decency and indecency. Slipping the briefs down just slightly, the assassin let out a breathy moan as he exposed the rest of himself to the night. He could almost imagine Engineer’s drawling voice simultaneously chiding and encouraging him, telling him it was both a terrible and absolutely terrific idea to continue. Spy agreed, it was the most terrible, most terrific idea to continue this fantasy. He gently grasped himself with his hand, gasping slightly as he felt the pleasure pooling in his stomach suddenly spike. An electric tingle shot up his spine, tingling against the back of his thighs, reaching even the soles of his feet.

A wanton moan escaped his lips, buried beneath the stolen shirt. Spy breathed in deeply again, taking in the scent of engine grease and sweat as he moved his other hand. He stroked himself slowly, pretending the rough scars on his hand were instead the callouses on Engineer’s, and that the scent he was very nearly drowning in came from the man himself, not a pilfered article of clothing.

His hand picked up the pace, becoming erratic as he started moving his hips in tandem. Precum leaked from the tip and smeared in his hand as he continued, his cries becoming louder and louder the more he tried to muffle them. Desperate, he caught a fistful of coarse cloth between his teeth, gagging the voice that insisted on continuing to make embarrassingly loud and lustful noises as he climbed quickly towards climax. Pleasure built in the pit of his stomach, filling him with impatient warmth as he growled Engineer’s name against the shirt he held to his face. His hand moved faster, more frantically, and his movements became erratic as his muscles tightened and jerked. Just as he thought he couldn't possibly work himself up any higher, Spy found himself tumbling over the edge, the Texan’s name on his lips. His eyes shot open, yet they saw nothing but burning white as he spilled into his hand.

Slowly, the assassin relaxed back against the mattress, his muscles twitching slightly as he rode through the aftershocks. His hand was sticky with cum, which he absently mused would be quite the pain to clean. The gentle afterglow embraced his whole body with its warmth. Spy realized that at some point between his climax and now, he had let Engineer’s shirt fall from his face. The clear night air only accentuated the heat radiating off his body. He felt content, even as his body occasionally tingled with what he could only describe as leftover energy.

Spy lay like that for a few minutes, basking in that soft golden feeling, until it was slowly pushed out by shame and, to his surprise, loneliness. Lying there with nothing for company but his hand and a stolen shirt suddenly felt horrifyingly lonely. The only way he could describe his state now was desperate. He was desperate for some kind of attention, for someone to finally touch him and release the tension building in his body. He wanted it, but he couldn't have it. The sliver of moonlight in his room suddenly increased in intensity, as if a cloud half obscuring the moon had just left.

Slowly, feeling his very bones creak, Spy reached for the tissues on his nightstand. He just had to occupy his mind and his hands.

The used tissues were soon tossed into the wastebasket, the assassin gingerly slipping beneath the blanket on his bed. As he lay his head down, he suddenly realized that the shirt, the thing that had sparked the events of this night, was still lying there on his pillow. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for it. Clutching the shirt like a lifeline, Spy curled up in bed and pressed his face into the coarse fabric of the company-issue shirt.

This would just have to be enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Look it's my first time writing this like actually ever so um... I also didn't proof read this like at /all/ and it's like 2 am right now, so apologies for any lack of quality, I wouldn't be brave enough to write/post it if it /wasn't/ the middle of the night. 
> 
> Eventually I also want to write a darker themed fic featuring the same kind of one-sided attraction... I guess it's time to dust off the good ol yandere trope. Coming soon to an AO3 page near you.


End file.
